


Familial Bonds

by droid_girl



Series: Roads Untravelled [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 15:32:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12015726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/droid_girl/pseuds/droid_girl
Summary: Jaime has to deal with the fact that he used to be a total a-hole when Bran and Arya turn up.Sansa continues to learn how to be a decent - if not good - ruler.Set in "Roads Untravelled" verse.





	Familial Bonds

Jon was leaving.

Jon was leaving, and for some reason unbeknownst to Jaime, Sansa was utterly caught off guard. Jaime had always known that the Queen’s brother was distracted by heavier concerns that pressed on his every waking moment. The running of the castle, the training of new recruits…none of it held any real interest for the man. The Wildlings, at Jon’s direction and with the agreement of the Queen, had long departed with their giant for Eastwatch. They were to man the forsaken ramparts overlooking the sea, and it had seemed to Jaime that Jon would rather have left with them.

“You would go to the Dragon Queen on the words of a man you haven’t seen in over a year, telling you some tale of a trove a Dragon Glass on the far side of Westeros?” 

The three of them stood in Sansa’s solar, with a parchment addressed to Jon lying between the siblings. Brother and sister stared at each other stubbornly, as Jaime propped himself by the window ledge, looking down to the courtyard where Podrick was displaying remarkable fortitude in the face of a sound thrashing from a new female recruit.

“Sam would not have written to me if he did not think this was of importance. Sansa, I’ve already told you, wights cannot be defeated by steel alone, and we suffer from a distinct lack of resources to destroy them.” Jon repeated. “Besides, you have yet to answer Tyrion’s request. What better way to placate the Dragon Queen than to send your only living brother to treat with her?”

“I need you here with me.” Sansa stated. “I cannot rule the North on my own. If you leave, I would be losing one of my most trusted advisors. No, I will not allow you to go.”

“If I don’t try to win the war in any way that I can, there won’t _be_ a North to rule.” Jon was rapidly losing patience. “Sansa, I’ve looked in the eyes of the Night King. The enemy is real, and he is coming for us.”

“Perhaps…” Jaime started, turning to face the room reluctantly. He hated getting between the two of them. Sansa cast him a look which spoke volumes of her ire, but still he soldiered on, unwittingly repeating the same advice his own brother had offered to the Dragon Queen only recently. “Perhaps the way to look at it is this: The North has little in the way of allies, and not enough soldiers to hold it should Cersei march her men up the King’s Road. To extend a hand in friendship to Daenerys Targaryen may be to our benefit.”

“I’ve thought of that. But it is unlikely friendship is the only thing on Daenerys Targaryen’s mind.” Sansa said stiffly. 

“I don’t expect you to bend the knee to a foreign Queen. None of us do.” Jaime continued smoothly. “But there’s no sense in ignoring a potential ally when we so very badly need one.”

“Sansa, I listened to you when you gave me no cause to do so.” Jon said quietly, not taking his eyes off his sister. “Why won’t you listen to me, when I tell you that this threat must be met?”

“Because you’re my only brother, and I just got you back.” Sansa shut her eyes. It was obvious to Jaime that the words pained her, ugly truth that it was. “Every time a Stark man goes South, he dies.”

“I am not a Stark.” Jon said very gently as he walked around the desk and put a comforting arm around his sister. “I don’t like having to be apart from you, believe me. But it’s not as if I’m leaving you alone is it? Although I suppose I _am_ leaving you with a rat-faced Lannister and a giant Lady who can beat him up.”

“You do realize I’m standing right here.” Jaime drawled. “And I was trying to help your cause.”

Jon smirked at him over Sansa’s bowed head, to which he responded with a rude gesture. 

_Was this what it was like to have relatives who weren’t all mad for power?_ Jaime wondered. 

“And you already know that I’m not really asking” Jon stepped away. “I’m telling. I would just prefer if I had your understanding and your blessing.”

“You have my love, if not my understanding or blessing.” Sansa smiled wanly. “Jon, just don’t do anything stupid. Or brave. Don’t get yourself killed.”

The siblings pulled each other into a fierce hug, sparking off that old irrational discomfort in Jaime’s chest as he watched. When finally they pulled apart, Jon approached the knight. 

“You’ll watch over her, see that she’s safe. I know you will.” he said gruffly. “And you do know that Valyrian steel you wield…that will protect the both of you.” 

There was no question what Jon meant in that statement. Nodding his understanding, Jaime was caught off guard by the other man reaching out and grasping his left arm in a firm shake.

With that, Jon left the room, leaving only Jaime and Sansa behind.

“He’s going to do something brave.” Sansa forlornly. “And it’s going to get him hurt, or killed, or worse.”

“Why would you say that?” Jaime asked, pressing a kiss to her hair before he himself made to return to the training yard.

“He may be a bastard, but he’s still my father’s son. Stark men are nothing if not brave.” the woman smiled sadly. Unable to refute her dire Northern logic, the Lord Commander of the realm walked away, leaving his Queen to her own thoughts.

***

“It’s completely ridiculous.” the Captain of the Guard exclaimed without preamble as she burst into the armoury where Jaime was conferring with the weapon smith. The young man drew back in alarm, nearly stabbing himself in the process. Casting Bryer an apologetic look, he nodded his dismissal to the smith, who murmured soft expletives under his breath as he passed the wench. 

It had been days since Jon and Ser Davos had taken their leave, and Jaime had taken to overseeing the rest of the soldier’s preparations. The work was never-ending, and the pressure continued to mount, but somehow, the endless stream of tasks comforted the Lord Commander. Having to worry about the war meant he had something to occupy his thoughts…it meant that he was granted a reprieve from the memories of little golden smiles and the sweet laughter of Tommen and Myrcella.

“Yes, your utter lack of awareness can sometimes be completely ridiculous, I’ll grant you that.” Jaime quipped, strolling over to the wench. “What is it now? Which Lord has decided to impugn upon your abilities?”

“All of them, but that’s not the issue.” Brienne sighed, running her fingers through her fair hair. “I explained to the Lords that the womenfolk could not be expected to fight in dresses or skirts, unless they wanted them to fall upon their own swords.”

“And?” Jaime lifted a brow.

“They said, and I quote: ‘it would sully the decency of every girl made to wear breeches’.” Brienne snorted in disgust.

Jaime rubbed at his forehead, certain now that he would be wrinkled beyond all recognition by the end of winter. “Has no one explained to them that it’s better to have a slightly sullied _living_ daughter, than a dead one who has managed to retain all her decencies to the very end?”

_Perhaps Myrcella would have been better served if he had taught her the use of a blade. She might have stood a chance._

Shoving the thought aside, Jaime marched out of the armoury with Brienne following closely behind. He made for the Great Hall with the intention of calling a meeting for every nobleman and woman, but his movements were stilled as he set foot in the courtyard.

Sansa had her arms thrown around a seated figure, one who could only have been Bran Stark. 

_The things I do for love._

The crushing memory of what he had done was enough to make his heart stop momentarily as he took in the crippled boy, who had been thus crippled at his own callous hand. The child had been been naught but another sacrifice to the twisted thing Jaime and Cersei had shared…the twisted thing which once, he had called love.

Even as he forced himself to focus on the present, the Lord Commander was beginning to notice certain facts that discomfited him. Despite Sansa’s tears of joy, Bran seemed utterly unmoved by his sister’s tears and tight embrace. He stared straight ahead, an otherworldly look of calm fixed upon his features. 

The boy craned his neck and looked directly into his eyes.

“Ser Jaime.” he smiled blankly. “I saw you. I watched as you changed the flow of all things.”

Jaime forced his feet forwards. “Lord Brandon, I am pleased to see you have returned safely.”

“I believe you.” Bran tilted his head like a curious bird. The emptiness in his eyes caused Jaime’s stomach to lurch unpleasantly. “You should know, I am Lord of nothing. I can never be Lord of anything.”

Sansa’s tears were drying fast. There was a small frown on her face as she studied her younger brother as if she were looking upon a stranger. 

“Your Grace, I have matters I have to address,” Jaime tilted his chin slightly. “I’m sure you have much to discuss with your brother.”

The Queen smiled at him distractedly. “I will speak with you later Lord Commander.”

Jaime turned and walked back to Brienne, who had been observing the entire scene from afar. “That boy…he’s doesn’t seem quite…right.”

“Do you speak aloud, every thought that drifts through your mind?” Jaime asked mildly as they resumed their route.

“Shockingly, no.” Brienne sighed. “I just say things no one else seems capable of voicing.”

Grimacing, the knight saw the truth in her words, if nothing else.

***

It was to Sansa’s confusion when he gently turned her away that night. Avoiding the questioning look she cast towards him, Jaime smiled and kissed her softly, before turning to his own quarters.

Alone, Jaime stared at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to find him. It never did.

The next night, he found himself hesitantly lingering by Sansa’s door, working up the courage to knock. When finally, he rapped softly upon the heavy wood, the door swung open immediately. Taking in his tired demeanour, she took him by the hand and lead him to her bed.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into her hair as he finally fell asleep. “I’m so sorry.”

Had he thought to look, he would have seen the knowing glint in her eyes, and the sad curve of her lips as she brushed a soft hand against his bare skin.

***

Life resumed without much fanfare for the next few weeks, although Jaime’s refuge in the Godswood was now closed to him. The Stark boy had taken to sitting under the Heart Tree for long hours at a time, saying and doing nothing. Meera Reed, the companion Bran had arrived with, left in a flurry of tears and anger, fists clenched tightly on the reins of the grey she rode.

Jaime found himself perfectly incurious as to what had transpired between the two. 

His days were spent surveying the progress of the new soldiers, both men and women. The women continued to wear their layered dresses, and continued to voice their irritation at how hard it was for them to perfect their footwork under layers of cumbersome material. 

At the same time, the Lords and Ladies of the court continued to bargain and harangue Sansa, all of them demanding that she decide how the former Bolton holdings should be divided amongst the houses. 

“I used to think being a ruler would be so easy.” Sansa sighed as she climbed into bed. “Father made ruling look almost effortless. All his men looked up to him, and his word was law.”

“Do you truly suppose that was how it started?” Jaime snorted from his place beside her, pulling layers of furs over them. “Your father doubtlessly spent years forging ties with each house until they came to respect him as much as they did. These things take time.”

“We haven’t got time have we?” Sansa's mouth drooped. “If Jon is right, we’re here fighting over scraps of land while the enemy advances upon us from the North. If _you_ are right, the enemy will take us from the South in short order. Yet nobody seems to care.”

“Have you received word from Jon?” Jaime asked, running his fingers through her thick tresses.

“Not a one.” the frustration in her voice intensified. She kissed his wrist absently. “He’s a terrible choice for an ambassador. I should have sent Davos and Davos alone.”

“You could have sent me.” he said with a rusty chuckle.

“And absolutely turn the Dragon Queen against the North,” she replied drily. “I think not.”

In response, he kissed her soundly, letting their words die for the night.

***

And then, Arya Stark came home.

***

He watched the sisters arguing on the ramparts, and had no doubt as to what it was they were exchanging words over. The worried glances Sansa kept casting in his direction told him everything he needed to know. 

It would be a poor Lord Commander who did not understand a threat when he saw one. Jaime had indeed, not failed to notice the blades the young Stark girl carried on her person. The way she carried herself, every step taken deliberately and with intention, brought to mind a predator, waiting for the right moment to strike.

But it was what he saw in Arya’s dark eyes, that truly brought out every last defensive instinct in Jaime’s body. Her eyes held the same flat look he had seen countless times in Ilyn Payne’s own; it was the flat look of a killer.

The girl’s eyes met his as she glared disdainfully down at him, as her sister stormed away to her solar. Convulsively, he gripped the pommel of Oathkeeper.

As his feet moved in the direction of Sansa’s chambers, he already knew what had to be done, and knew he had put it off for far too long.

***

Sansa did not look up as he entered without knocking.

“Go away Arya. I will not speak on this anymore. My word on this is final.” she growled. 

“I have something to confess.” Jaime said. The Queen snapped her head up in surprise.

Without waiting, knowing that putting it off even another second would only make it more painful, he told her. He told her of the tower, and told her of _why_ he had been in the tower, and with whom. 

He told of how he had shoved Brandon Stark’s helpless little body out the window, and of how he had resumed fucking Cersei immediately after, as if nothing had occurred. Every word was a stab of red hot shame through his body.

The Queen never once interrupted him; instead, she simply looked at him, growing stiller by the second. 

Finally, when there were no more words left, Jaime allowed his gaze to drop, unable to meet her steady gaze as he awaited her judgement. Whatever it was she meted out, he would accept it. Banishment or death…it didn’t matter. There was nothing he didn’t deserve. 

“I already know.” she said into the silence. Sansa stood and walked around her desk.

Jaime’s eyes widened. Looking up, he gaped at the woman. 

“Tyrion…he drinks far too much.” Sansa continued, bitterness marring her expression. “He told me one night, when he had been too far into his cups, of what you and Cersei had done to Bran.”

“Then why…how could you let me…” Jaime blurted out. 

“I hated you. I hated all of you. I even hated Tyrion for a time even though he had tried his best to protect me.” Sansa wrung her hands. The bitterness had shifted, leaving only a profound sadness. “But how could I hate the man who risked everything for me?”

He stared at her in wonderment. 

“Jaime, I…” she reached down and grasped at his living hand. “Thank you for telling me…but this changes nothing. Not anything that truly matters.”

“I am truly sorry.” he said, gripping her hand tightly, afraid that if he let go, he would never touch her again. “I know my words do nothing, and there is nothing I can do to change the past…”

“The past is over…if we look back - if we keep looking back - we will be lost.” her eyes were shining as her tears spilled over. Reaching up on tiptoes, she pressed her lips to his and whispered soft words against his skin. Giving his hand one last squeeze, she moved back, and scrubbed the tears away from her cheeks with the back of her hands. 

“Don’t you have some soldiers to see to?” she asked, smiling weakly. 

Nodding dumbly, Jaime left the Queen to her work.

***

As the Lord Commander walked down the dark hallway, a figure melted out of the shadows, like the vengeful ghost of Eddard Stark himself come to haunt him. Rage filled eyes regarded him with a coldness that chilled him to the very bone.

“I heard what you said in there. I heard it all.” Arya fingered the handle of her dagger meaningfully. 

Jaime was not a slight man, nor was he a weak one. Even with one hand, he had proven time and again, that he was capable of beating an opponent in single combat. Yet there was something about the small figure before him that made him doubt he would come out of an altercation unscathed. 

“I will not kill you because it’s clear - my sister is addled with affection for you. I will not do anything to cause her grief.” Arya circled him as a wolf preparing to pounce. “But if you ever harm my family in any way, shape or form…”

“If I ever harm your family again, my life is forfeit. I will offer it to you willingly.” Jaime stated calmly, without a single note of hesitation. 

“Justice will be served ser.” Arya nodded. “But not for as long as my sister has need of you. This I promise.”

He turned and watched as she sauntered away, hands clasped behind her back. Releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding, he continued on his way.

**Author's Note:**

> To everyone still reading - much thanks!


End file.
